Gift Giving
by Juxtaposie
Summary: Because flowers aren't always a good idea, and sometimes they're downright creepy. Greens. Birthday fic for Jen.


**Gift Giving**

_Because flowers aren't always a good idea, and sometimes they're downright creepy._

* * *

With her breath stuck in her throat and a strange mixture of fear and something dangerously close to hope rolling around in her stomach, Buttercup stared down at the bundle in her arms and attempted to speak through the confusion that was tying her tongue into knots.

Clenching her jaw in a show of false bravado, she finally managed to choke out "What the fuck is this?" glancing up at the young man in front of her, too horrified to put any real animosity into the demand.

Butch, who'd been chewing on the inside of his cheek in a rare show of nervousness, crossed his arms in a classic posture of defensiveness and answered, somewhat brusquely, "Flowers." Then, jutting his chin toward the aforementioned bundle, added, "Don't girls like this kind of shit?"

"Maybe stupid girls," Buttercup managed to grit out, glancing down at the flowers again and thinking of her sisters.

A scowl immediately replaced the look of feigned disinterest on Butch's face. Buttercup went on the defensive when he began to grind his teeth, and was completely prepared to block the punch she just knew was coming, but when he finally moved it was to snatch the bouquet out of her arms and throw it as hard as he could into the sunset. It disappeared off onto the horizon in a matter of seconds, a tail of flower petals streaming in its wake.

"Hey!" Buttercup exclaimed, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and hauling him around to face her. "I didn't say I didn't want them!"

After shooting her a murderous glare – she could hear his teeth squeaking past each other – Butch shook her off bodily and took a running leap into the sky. Relieved that the unusually strange experience was finally over, it took her a few moments to realize he'd gone after the errant bouquet. When he returned, windblown and looking ready to kill, he shoved the flowers back into her arms with enough force to knock her backwards into the door. The bouquet was little more than stems and leaves now. Only a few scant petals remained.

Taking another long look down at the flowers, studiously ignoring Butch while trying to quell the beginnings of panic which were rolling around in her stomach, Buttercup tried desperately to pretend that there wasn't something inherently wrong with what was happening to her – what he was doing.

"No," she said finally, shaking head, thrusting the flowers back into his face and praying that her voice didn't sound as hysterical to his ears as it did to her own. "No, I can't. I'm sorry!" Then, chagrined by her own reaction, anger replaced the panic in a flash and she continued, shouting, "No, I'm not sorry! What the fuck's wrong with you?! Take them! Get outta here!"

Then she opened the front door, stepped inside, and slammed it in his face.

Butch stared at the door for a full minute, trying to decide whether or not the two or three punches he'd be able to get in after busting down that damn cheery red door would be worth the beating he'd take when all three of the girls ganged up on him. Home was sacred: it was base in a dangerous game of tag, and none of them had ever violated that unwritten rule.

At the moment, he was seriously considering it.

With a strangled, choked scream, he threw what was left of the flowers down on the doorstep, stomped on them until the concrete cracked, and took off, vowing to never – ever – again give flowers to a female.

After a few conspicuously silent moments, Buttercup opened the front door. She took a good, long look in the direction Butch had gone, and when she was sure he wouldn't be coming back, she bent down and gathered up the few remains of flower stems and the crumpled piece of parchment the flowers had been wrapped in.

"What in the world is that?" Bubbles asked, glancing briefly over her sister's shoulder, on her way to the living room.

"Just some trash," Buttercup answered easily.

"Well be sure you get all the pieces up," Bubbles called back.

Buttercup did, but she never got around to throwing anything away.

* * *

**AN**: And some green, to mix up the color palette.


End file.
